


A Spaceman's Holiday

by jaqhad (kyrilu)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Poe Dameron (Comics)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23948323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/jaqhad
Summary: Five times that Terex’s vacations are rudely interrupted and the one time he interrupts Poe’s.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Terex
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	A Spaceman's Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> Brief Terex/OMC and recreational drug use. This was just supposed to be about Terex getting high with Maz Kanata and discussing how hot Poe is, but then it turned into a silly thought exercise about what it might take for Terex to actually join the Resistance. 
> 
> This is legitimately a belated birthday present to myself, because this is… ridiculous, full of All the References, and tailored to my own weird sense of humor.

Even as a stormtrooper in the rank and file of the Empire, Terex had dreams. Once the galaxy was peacefully tamed under Imperial reign, he planned to take his basic pay savings and go on a vacation.

Not just a brief jaunt on a pleasure cruiser, but somewhere nice. No marching through mud – or refresher cleaning duties – or some officer snarling at you to fix the radar scanner again because it’s bringing up errors, and what do you mean the rebels are jamming our systems, TK-603? 

Yes, Terex has dreams. After tossing Lor San Tekka into the abyss of space, he brushes the metaphorical dust off his list of vacation spots and decides to start there.

* * *

**ZELTROS** **– NOW**

To be honest, Zeltros isn’t Terex’s first destination. He stops on Milvayne to receive some expert medical examination to ensure that his head is working as it’s supposed to, in case the First Order tried something funny while removing the implants. Admittedly, he undergoes a spot of cosmetic surgery as well. Terex will always be a vain bastard and those scars are _hideous._

Next: Zeltros. During his stint as a crime lord, Terex had purchased a little seaside cottage on Zeltros, but he never actually went there until now. 

After all, the life of a criminal is a busy one. Not that he’d tell anyone else, but he owns a copy of _The_ _Book of Hondo_ where he’s digitally highlighted the quote Opportunities abound for the unscrupulous and the bold! for emphasis. 

When it comes down to it, Terex is prepared to commit to the role he’s chosen at the moment, even if it involves going off-script. Stormtrooper – pirate – spymaster.

This time, it’s vacationer – holidaymaker – retiree.

It’s a little slow. Still, he keeps himself occupied. He buys himself a fast waterspeeder to take out onto the waves. He finishes reading a biography about Tarkin that he’s been meaning to get around to – it’s written by a biased Alliance sympathizer, but nonetheless, it contains some riveting insights about the legendary grand moff.

Terex also improves his culinary skills. Slave labor isn’t an option this time around with the whole Oddy Muva fiasco behind him. Besides, you can’t trust a droid to grill your nerf steak to the perfect degree.

He’s sipping a Photon Fizzle on the beach, contemplating whether he should read Mas Amedda’s memoir _I, Grand Vizier, Peacemaker_ or watch that new comedy holo about a talking tooka, when someone shouts: “Lord Terex!” 

It’s Brrang, one of his Ranc lieutenants. Terex had assumed that he had exploded along with the rest of them.

“Ah, my friend,” Terex says, gesturing to one of the chairs next to him. “Would you like a drink?” 

“We thought you were dead,” Brrang says. “I could hardly believe the rumors that you were alive and spotted here on Zeltros, of all places.” 

“Frankly, I’m surprised, too,” Terex says. “I always find a way, eh?”

“Of course. But our forces have been severely depleted. We’re losing our hold on Kaddak, and we were wondering whether you would return–”

“Do I look like a man who’s willing to drop everything and sort out your squabbles?”

With an abrupt sharp movement, Brrang swats away the glass that Terex’s service droid has poured out for him. “All right, enough of this. It’s your fault that we were dragged into this First Order nonsense and lost our fleet. And we found out that you’ve been hoarding valuable resources stashed in private off-planet accounts and storage units. Those are _Ranc_ funds and assets.” 

“And who was the leader of the Rancs who acquired those assets?” Terex counters. “I am sorry to hear about the state of current affairs, but I’m currently living in blissful retirement. I’m owed a pension.” It wasn’t as if the First Order would give him one.

Brrang pulls out his blaster. “Where are our creds, Terex?”

Five minutes later, Terex is lugging Brrang’s body into the ocean with the help of his service droid.

Well, at least he can cross Zeltros off his list and try somewhere new. The seaside view does get dull after a while. 

* * *

**INTERLUDE** – **THE** ** _CARRION SPIKE_** – **BEFORE**

“You captured me to ask about _what_?” 

“Tell me everything you know about Resistance pilot Poe Dameron,” Terex says, with his arms crossed. “Well?” 

Venisa Doza is getting too old for this poodoo. Venisa had thought she would be happily retired on Castilon teaching her daughter flight maneuvers, in between sipping cocktails in the Aces’ lounge with her husband. 

Then this ugly First Order business reared its head, and here she is. Attacked during a recon mission, strapped to a chair, while some half-bald guy cannot shut up about Shara’s kid foiling him at a prison or something. 

At least this is giving Torch some quality slicing time. 

“I thought you’d start with asking the location of our base,” Venisa says. “I’m sorry to say that it’s on Hoth again. I went hover-skiing last weekend and nearly got mauled by a wampa.” 

“Somewhere in the Ileenium system,” Terex says, his tone bored. “I figured it out ages ago, but I haven’t bothered sharing the news with Phasma and the other overbearing sticks-in-the-mud. I’ll narrow it down later — it’s not quite my primary area of interest.” 

“So, your area of interest is Poe Dameron.” 

“Indeed.” 

“You realize you could send flowers, you know that?”

That was what Imanuel did, though it was more like leaving behind shin’yah blossoms in Imperial outposts before fleeing with his troopers, since Venisa and her squadron were on their heels. Once, he even sent Griff — who was called GQ-317 back then — to deliver Venisa a poem inscribed on a piece of flimsi, and she’d used the opportunity to tag him with a tracker. 

Terex rolls his eyes. “As if I would know what sort of flowers to send. Not that I would do such a thing. I’m seeking to even the score.” 

“Sure,” she says. “You know, this is weird. I’ve known Poe ever since he was a little squirt. I doubt you care about his favorite racing team when he was six.” 

“Every bit of information counts.” 

“I’ll have to start from the beginning,” Venisa says, leaning back. She wishes that these interrogation chairs had cushions. “I first properly flew with Shara Bey after the attack on the Mako-Ta Space Docks. The war was looking pretty grim on our end, and the Alliance was regrouping—” 

“Now, _that_ was a battle,” Terex says, appreciatively. “I was stationed aboard the _Ravager_ at the time. I was a stormtrooper, you see.” 

“That wasn’t a battle. That was you Imps taking potshots at our trapped crews.” 

Venisa notes that Terex neglected to specify what exactly he was doing on the ship and guesses that he had been assigned routine maintenance duty or something similarly low-grade. He seems like the type to overinflate his role. “Anyways. Like I said. Regrouping. General Syndulla tasked my squad and Green Squadron to raid an Imperial factory…” 

She’s recounting the base relocation to Hoth – “Meorti helped me make some neat modifications to my X-wing’s s-foils, so I didn’t have to worry about the climate affecting them” – “Shara and Kes almost froze to death in a cave” – “there was this little blonde girl who was a wiz at herding tauntauns, but she had sticky fingers and kept trying to steal my chrono” – when an explosion rocks the ship and Terex curses and bolts out of the room. 

The binders on her wrists pop open. 

Finally. 

She says into her comlink: “I owe you an oil bath at a proper droid spa, Torch. Yeah, I know I say that every time, but I mean it this time. My throat was getting sore.” 

* * *

**GATALENTA – NOW**

Terex’s skyfaring instructor probably looks like what Poe Dameron would look like in ten years — salt-and-pepper hair and beard, wrinkled laugh lines, rugged hands — except he has a lithe athletic frame that’s suited for Gatalenta’s native calisthenics techniques, and he’s half-Keshian, his eyes shimmering violet.

Gatalenta was a wise choice, Terex thinks, as Lyl Notang ably twirls across the overhanging wooden scaffolding with the use of neon scarves. 

Unfortunately, Terex’s body isn’t made for acrobatics. But it’s enough to practice simple floor exercises and stretches — to breathe in the fragrance of honeyblossom and kessinnamon incense — guided, all the while, by Lyl’s eager voice while he rambles on about balancing one’s body and mind.

He’s so immersed in life at the tranquil meditation retreat that he barely registers the news of the New Republic collapsing.

One of the other skyfaring students brings it up during breakfast, teary-eyed and shaking. “The entire Hosnian system. It’s gone.” 

“Oh, so that’s what that Starkiller thing does,” Terex says. He goes back to drinking his tea and watching the suns rise over the mountains. 

One week later, he successfully seduces Lyl Notang into his bed. He’s just as flexible as he appears, and he makes soypro rolls for the morning after. 

“You have to give me the recipe for this, my dear,” Terex murmurs, twining his arm around Lyl’s waist. He’s still half-asleep, but he’d snatched a roll from the plate next to the sizzling pan, and it tastes amazing.

“And you were saying that soypro isn’t as good as real meat,” Lyl says, with a shake of his head. “Don’t forget what I said, Terex, about the importance of expanding your horizons.”

Truth be told, Terex gets restless during meditation sessions, and Lyl’s called him out on it more than once. It’s difficult to close your eyes and concentrate when your instructor is wearing a skintight leotard. 

“Mm, fair enough. How else do you wish to expand my horizons?” 

And then, suddenly, the familiar scream of TIE fighters outside, and Terex twitches and feels like he’s been injected with a stim-shot. “What in the blazes is the First Order doing here?”

Lyl blinks, disentangles himself from Terex’s embrace while he busies himself with turning on the kettle. “It must have to do with the protests,” he says. “I know that I tell all of my students to keep your datapads and comlinks turned off, but I’ve refreshed my holofeed once or twice out of curiosity. Yesterday, the First Order sent a diplomatic delegation to the capital, and there have been rallies commemorating former Governor Holdo in response. I suppose the situation has escalated.”

“Holdo?” Where has Terex heard that name before again? 

“She’s one of Gatalenta’s old politicians. She retired and joined Organa’s Resistance,” Lyl tells him. “There are unconfirmed HoloNet rumors about her destroying a Dreadnought in the Outer Rim. What a mess, this galaxy is.” He sighs. “One can’t stop the tides of history from turning, but it helps to consider the depths of the universe and realize how small you are in the face of it…” 

Terex stares out the window. The TIEs have left streaks of exhaust in their wake. Vice Admiral Holdo destroyed a Dreadnought, and Gatalentans are rioting in the streets. This will not end well for Gatalenta. This will not end well at all. 

“I,” Terex declares, “am going to take a walk. Thank you for the lovely night and the lovely breakfast.” 

Technically, that’s not a lie. He walks to his ship and gets the hell out of this system. 

Stupid Resistance and their stupid dramatic antics. Why does Terex have the feeling that Poe Dameron had something to do with this?

* * *

**EPHEMERA – NOW**

Terex emerges from a mineral bath feeling superbly cleansed. He feels like he’s floating on a cloud, both in the figurative sense and literal sense. Ephemera is a gaseous planet surrounded in swirling mists, and his head is buzzing from ingesting some spice wine that the spa attendants had offered.

Maz Kanata sits in the adjacent room, reclining on a plush lounger. Every surface of her wrinkled orange skin is covered in pink slimy tuusah. Terex scoops a handful of the substance from the nearby bowl to smear on his face before taking a seat next to her.

“How was the mineral bath?” she asks, blinking open a beady spectacled eye. 

“Marvelous,” he says. “The last time I felt like this, it was after drinking a particularly intoxicating mixture of haneli tea.”

“Ah, that reminds me.” Maz signals a spa attendant, and soon, a droid bustles in and delivers a hookah contraption. It’s attached to a crystal urn filled with roiling violet liquid, and the pirate queen murmurs a thanks and takes a puff from a pipe. “You’re welcome to partake.” 

Terex accepts the other pipe and inhales, exhales, expelling lavender mist. It’s flavored; he identifies the tang of burrfruit.

They sit there companionably, half-obscured by smoke, until Maz breaks the silence. “You just missed Poe. He stopped by an hour ago.” 

“Ugh,” Terex says. “Begging for your help, I presume. Maz, my dear, nothing good will come out of taking a side in this war. You had a wonderful castle on Takodana — it shocked me to hear the news.”

“You’re hardly one to lecture me,” Maz says, with a soft snort. “I told you, Terex, to not join those rascals. I told you: stick to your Rancs, keep conducting business with me and Kartessa and the Corsair and all the rest, because that Wisper fellow is a fool and he’ll ruin everything you built, and this First Order is a path to madness. But did you listen to me? You did not.” 

“Fine, fine.” Terex waves his hand to dispel plumes of purple. “I learned my lesson. I hope that you’ve learned the same. It’s a circle. An endless struggle with destruction and betrayal and annoying handsome pilots and whatnot.” 

He takes a long drag from the pipe, feeling philosophical. 

Maz hums. “Well, I did turn down the Resistance’s request for the most part. But you’re right. That Poe Dameron is a sight for my old eyes.” 

Terex’s head is suffused in sublime dizziness, and he tells himself that it’s the drugs when he admits, “He does have nice hair.” 

“And he becomes delightfully flustered when you put him on the spot. That boy tries so hard to be smooth, but he has no idea what he’s doing.” 

“Yes, that inane catchphrase about being able to fly everything. And he’s a damn good fighter. I’ve tussled with him hand to hand, and even with that ball droid helping him, he’s clearly in decent physical condition.” 

“And he’s a flyboy, with all the recklessness and daring that comes along with that. He informed me that he recently led a mutiny.” 

That makes Terex pause. “Really? Interesting.” 

He inhales in another breath, and then, he catches a glimpse of something off, and he lobs the crystal urn at the spa attendant—

The shatter of glass, the sizzle of heliotrope fog, and the pale face of the attendant gives way to a green-skinned shapeshifter. 

“If you’re in the impersonation business, make sure you get the eye color right,” Terex says, sharply. “Who the pfassk sent you?”

The Clawdite brushes shards from his body. Before he can answer, a blonde human woman steps out from behind a fountain. “The First Order put a bounty on your head. You’re Agent Terex. Deserter and criminal.”

“<Was it dead or alive again?”> An Aqualish stomps into the room waving around a blaster. <”I never can remember the details.”>

“Either’s good, Wooro. As long as we have some kind of body left to bring back.” 

“ _I’m_ the criminal?” Terex says, raising his eyebrows. “You’re the gang that did the Bothan museum heist, aren’t you? I’m a big fan.” 

The blonde woman shrugs. “Innocent until proven guilty. You’re the one with the death mark on your head.” 

“Oh for the love of the Empire,” Terex mutters. 

A tap on his hand. Maz slips him a round metal object. “You might need this. Good luck.” She settles back on her lounger and closes her eyes. 

Suffice to say, Terex escapes, largely thanks to the grenade that Maz had given him. There’s a lot of blaster fire, dodging, and an undignified chase while wearing a fluffy bathrobe, but eventually, he’s off, the churning airy surface of Ephemera fading as he jumps his ship into hyperspace. 

* * *

Later, this process repeats on Canto Bight, Raysol Prime, Cerea, and Thyron VII, though with a different cast of characters every time — featuring more mercs or the occasional sharp-eyed stormtrooper unit — but the less said, the better. Idiotic fools who think they can hunt down _Terex_.

* * *

**INTERLUDE** — **SAFEHOUSE ON AN UNDISCLOSED PLANET** — **NOW**

“Hey, Poe.” Suralinda wanders over to him. When she holds up her datapad’s screen, Poe recognizes the First Order’s list of subversives that the Collective had shared with the Resistance. 

She says, “I’m reading over the names to see if I recognize anyone familiar in case it’d make a worthwhile story. Like we thought, you’re on it, but it’s kind of strange.” 

“What do you mean?” Poe says, distractedly, squinting at his hand of sabacc cards. He doesn’t think he’s going to win this game. He’s not the greatest bluffer and his old Black Squadron crew can sniff him out a parsec away.

“There’s a line in your datafile that says: _Has nice hair._ Why in the stars would someone in the First Order put that?” 

“Because I have nice hair, I guess,” Poe says. 

“They’re not wrong,” Karé says, and Snap and Jess echo the sentiment. 

Suralinda gives Poe an unimpressed look. “I mean, who would catalogue that? That General Hux guy? Kylo Ren after he tortured you or whatever? That Order guy who I spat acid on?” 

Poe draws a card from the deck. “Probably Terex.” 

Karé: “Totally Terex.” 

Snap: “Terex.”

Jess: “That evil mustached asshole.”

“Who’s Terex?” Finn asks. 

“Man, buddy,” Poe says. “It’s a long story…” 

* * *

**BATUU – NOW – SIX MONTHS LATER**

Batuu should have been the perfect hideout. It’s on the edge of Wild Space. It’s a hive of criminals that any scoundrel can easily blend amongst. And there are plenty of things to do, ranging from taking holo-pictures in front of tall spires, to perusing the market stalls, to spectating podraces and droid fights…

Regrettably, the Resistance thought the same and apparently established an outpost here. Midway through Terex’s exploration of Batuu’s attractions, the First Order enforces a blockade and occupation, searching for wayward rebels.

He’s been able to keep his head down, but he’s stuck, waiting for the excitement to die down before fleeing the planet. He’s sitting at the counter in Oga’s Cantina, nursing a glass of Akivan liquor and listening to the jatz music that the DJ droid is broadcasting, when he overhears — 

“Poe should be coming back with reinforcements soon.” It’s a young woman wearing grey wrap robes and holding a staff. Her voice is hushed as she and an older woman take a seat at the bar. “I’m worried about Lieutenant Bek and the recruits.” 

“It’s alright,” the older woman replies. She’s wearing a bright orange jacket, her short dark hair streaked with blue. “Finn and his team are doing everything they can to help. All we can do is wait.” 

The girl lets out a soft laugh. “All my life, I’ve been used to waiting. Times like these, I can’t stand it anymore. I should be up there in my ship, taking shots at that Star Destroyer and rescuing them — but that blowhard Weequay still has the _Falcon_.” 

“Just relax, kid. Have a drink. You’ve been a hero enough for today. I still can’t believe I survived an encounter with Supreme Leader Chokey McChokehand himself.” 

“Shame he didn’t finish the job,” Terex says. No matter how much he dislikes that Vader wannabe, there are some irritating spies that the galaxy would be better off not housing. 

The older woman turns and bristles. “You!” 

“Me.” Terex raises his glass in greeting. “Rising moons, Ms. Moradi.” 

“Vi,” the girl says, “you know this man? Is he—?” She reaches for her staff, and Terex internally scoffs. Is he supposed to be scared of that stick?

“Agent Terex,” Vi Moradi introduces, with a grimace. “First Order Security Bureau. We’ve met a couple times during the cold war. But I heard that he left the Order because he was too nasty even for them.” 

“Something like that. And before you try hitting me with that stick, girl, maybe take into account that I won’t report you to the stormtroopers. Not out of the pure goodness of my heart, but because I’m as much a wanted customer as you are. Unless you’re really that stupid enough to think that causing a ruckus and drawing their attention is in your best interests.” 

The girl frowns, but the tension in her shoulders loosens. “We’re supposed to trust you?” 

Terex holds up his hands in supplication. “I’m merely here to have a drink. Same as you.” 

Moradi snorts. “He’s as trustworthy as a Kowakian in a pantry. The bartender’s one of my people, Terex, and he’s got his blaster on him. Try anything funny and you get blasted by him, me, _and_ a whack from her.” 

“Very well,” Terex says. He glances at the bartender, a violet-haired human who gives Terex a grin and salute. Ah, the Resistance, with its never-ending supply of confident attractive crusaders. 

He jerks his thumb toward the girl. “Anyhow, it looks like you’ve been busy, Ms. Moradi. Who’s she, your spy student Canary or Swamp Turkey or whatever applicable avian codename?”

“Wow. You’ve been really out of touch with current events. How the mighty have fallen.” 

What the kriff is Moradi talking about? That’s the entire point of retirement. 

“I’m Rey, Agent Terex,” the girl says, her eyes narrowed and unwavering. “I had a lightsaber duel with Kylo Ren earlier this evening. I suspect I’m higher up on the First Order wanted list than you.” 

“Oh, is that it?” Terex says, unimpressed. He’s not completely out of touch. He’s heard the rumors about the Resistance’s figurehead Jedi. Sometimes, when he’s drunk enough, he listens in on Resistance frequencies in hope of hearing Poe’s voice. 

He continues: “Good for you. Maybe you’ll kill Ren, or he’ll kill you, or you’ll kill each other. If you win, I hope that you’ll write a gripping memoir about all the lasersword murder.”

“You’re a very troubled person,” Moradi says. “You should take up knitting or meditating or something.” 

“I did. _Twice._ Then the First Order or enterprising bounty hunters interrupted. You have no idea how difficult it is to take a vacation under these circumstances. It sucks vapor, Starling.” He waves the bartender over to refill his glass and downs half of it in several swallows.

Moradi wrinkles her nose. “Have you ever considered that this is your fault and your sins are coming back to bite you?”

“Ha. Very funny. Nevertheless, I can sleep easier than you ridiculous rebels. I’m not carrying the weight of the entire galaxy on my shoulders.”

Terex finishes his drink. Speaking of rebels with savior complexes —“Ms. Rey, do you happen to know what Poe’s favorite flowers are?” 

Rey, who’s tentatively sipping an orange-colored cocktail, coughs. “What? How should I know that?” 

“You’re _still_ obsessed with Dameron?” Moradi says in disbelief. 

“It’s only a question.” 

Rey says, “He’s from Yavin, isn’t he? It’s probably flora from where he’s from. I miss Jakku’s nightblossoms, even though it’s… Jakku.” 

Terex makes a sympathetic noise. He can’t imagine growing up in that miserable sandhole. He fought on the planet while it was an active warzone, but living there? Hell. 

“Rey, don’t encourage this creep.” 

* * *

In Black Spire Outpost’s spaceport, Vi Moradi catches him before he departs. Arms crossed and hair now dyed red, she’s leaning against his gunship. Terex remains in perpetual mourning over the _Carrion Spike_ , but this ship, one of the surviving spoils of his life as a pirate, is serviceable enough.

She flicks him a fragment of flimsiplast. “This is the contact info for my encrypted holocom line, Mr. Tragic Tourist.” 

Terex catches it between his fingers like it’s a ticking bomb. “Is this a joke?” 

“Only if you want it to be. With the Resistance having won this battle, there are a lot more people who owe us favors. Oga Garra — Dok-Ondar — that swaggering sleemo Hondo Ohnaka. Our friends have connections and strings to pull, and I think they’ll be able to call off a decent percentage of those mercs on your tail. Just give me a call from time to time.” 

And then she disappears into the crowd of spacers and mechanics in the docking bay, her scarlet-tipped hair like a vanishing flare.

* * *

**INTERLUDE – NOW**

Of course he doesn’t call.

He can handle himself perfectly fine, thank you very much. He is the furthest thing from rebel aider and abettor. Yes, there were moments involving Poe and Black Squadron, but at the end of the day, he did it for himself or to get back at Malarus and Phasma — the _scum_ who used him like a puppet. 

He doesn’t tear up the flimsi. 

* * *

**NAR SHADDAA – NOW**

The next time Terex sees Rey, she’s in Grakkus’ arena, fighting a dark armor clad Kage. They’re a blur of clashing blades, her blue lightsaber meeting the Kage’s twin vibro-swords.

Despite the Megalox incident, Terex had put effort into rekindling his friendship with Grakkus. He was intent on settling on the smuggler’s moon, renewing his underworld connections, and spectating bloodsport on the side. Obviously, _that_ scheme has to get scrapped in a matter of minutes.

What is the Resistance even thinking? They’ve sent their prized hero into the clutches of a Hutt crime lord, an avid collector of Jedi artifacts who would eagerly toss a Jedi into the ring. This is very public and very harebrained, and the First Order will be here any second.

Terex tosses his half-finished bucket of bangcorn into the nearest trash receptacle. He weaves through the crowded audience stands, walks out of Hutta Town at a quickened pace, and eventually, he arrives at the starport where his ship is docked.

Where a blasterfight is underway. 

Stormtroopers are exchanging fire with two beings ducked behind crates. One is a Duros; the other a young human girl who appears to be several years younger than Rey. Soon, Terex wagers, the Resistance will be cradle-nabbing like the First Order.

The girl is saying, “This is your fault!”

“ _My_ fault? You insisted that we borrow one of Maz Kanata’s ships, kid.”

“ _You_ didn’t check that our fake IDs would pass muster.” 

“Okay, look, that’s Threepio’s fault.” 

“Threepio and his network are busy at the moment.... you can’t exactly blame him.” 

Their argument halts as they focus on the battle. One stormtrooper goes down, then another. Terex sidles toward his own ship, a proverbially whistling bystander who has no stake in this situation. 

Suddenly, the Duros lets out a cry, and the girl exclaims, “Shriv!” High panic thrills in her voice as the Duros slumps against a crate, stunned and bleeding. “Shriv, c’mon, I can’t do this without you. The mission—”

In a blink, Terex processes the two rebels’ plight: their ship is grounded, which Terex does recognize as one of Maz’s freighters, fit with a docking restraint mechanism. The Duros down for the count, the girl on her own, and further stormtrooper back-up imminent.

He is not going to — 

He is _definitely_ not going to — 

The last lone stormtrooper crumples on the ground. Terex holsters his blaster pistol. 

He owes Maz Kanata a favor. Multiple favors, in fact, if one counts her famous hangover cures. Or perhaps he can find some way to disrupt that troublesome spymaster droid’s plans. And if need be, he can always toss that girl and her compatriot out of an air lock, or they can be ransomed or leveraged against the Resistance. 

He’ll figure something out. 

“Come with me if you want to live,” he says, not without sarcasm.

The girl looks up at him with wide surprised eyes. “Who are you?” 

“Terex. A former business associate of Maz Kanata’s. I have a medbay on my ship. Vel, give her a hand.” He directs his LEP droid to assist the girl with carrying the unconscious Duros. “Tell me about your mission once we’re off-planet.”

* * *

**THE** **_HALCYON HERON_ ** **– NOW**

The girl walks around the cockpit, her gaze sweeping over the controls. 

“A modded Imperial patrol transport,” she says, her tone approving. “Not bad. I grew up on a _Raider II_ -class corvette. I know it’s blasphemy coming from a rebel, but I’m more comfortable with Imperial ships over X-wings any day, even though I can fly those, too.” She shakes off the digression. “I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Zay. You said you’re a friend of Maz’s?” 

“That I am,” Terex acknowledges. Whatever the value of ‘friendship’ among pirates is worth; which is to say, sometimes it weighs more than a thousand camtonos filled with gold, while other times, it weighs as much as a puff of gas from the rear end of a happabore. “I didn’t realize that she’s progressed to the point of supplying your Resistance with ships, but I can’t say I’m not surprised.” 

“The _Amethyst Pulsar_. It was supposed to be a part of our cover, but it threw up red flags in the system and the spaceport stormtrooper guards sprung an ambush.” Zay scowls. “We couldn’t fly the _Millennium Falcon_ into the wasp-worm’s nest, no matter how much Rey wanted to.”

“Your Jedi girl who’s brawling in Grakkus’ arena right now.” 

“Yup,” Zay says. “All according to plan, besides everything going wrong on me and Shriv’s end. Typical.”

“What is this… plan?”

“To steal something from the Undervaults of Gwongdeen.” 

Terex pauses. “Of course. That sounds sane and reasonable."

“We’re rebels. We don’t do reasonable,” Zay says, with a flash of a grin. She reaches into her red-brown jacket and produces a key. “We nabbed this off our guy who’s still busy watching Rey’s match. He’s a gambler, and we knew he would be distracted.” 

It is indeed a safety deposit key for a box in the Undervaults of Gwongdeen, a gleaming metallic device with a screen of Aurebesh characters on its face. Terex has kept a box before for various aspects of business — thus, he’s well-aware of the Undervaults’ reputation and security.

Each key has a unique code that resets every standard rotation. “You have a day to execute this heist of yours.” 

“And you’re my new ride,” Zay says. “Sorry to impose, Mr. Terex, but I’m working on a limited timeframe.”

He can feel a headache coming on. “The galaxy doesn’t want me to retire in peace, does it?”

“You were trying to retire on _Nar Shaddaa_?” 

“The usual spots weren’t yielding much success. And I’ve always had a fondness for the Meltdown Cafe’s dianoga pie _._ ”

Nar Shaddaa is seedy, but it isn’t lacking in the dining department. Imperial stormtrooper rations it is not.

Zay laughs. “Maybe the Resistance can treat you to a meal after all this is over.”

Dryly, Terex says, “I’ll pass.” However, he briefly entertains the possibility of demanding a candlelit dinner with Poe Dameron. Which would certainly result in a lot of shouting, blaster fire, and someone holding their xizor salad fork wrong, but the sheer hilarity of the experience would be glorious. 

(Hadn’t Maz said something about sending Poe on a mission where he went undercover in formal attire? That must have been a sight.)

Terex tears himself away from that train of thought. He is not obsessed with Poe Dameron.

“What are you attempting to steal from the Undervaults?” he asks.

Zay tells him.

* * *

Zay leaves the cockpit to check on her Duros friend, who’s been submerged in a bacta tank in the medbay. Outside the viewport, hyperspace blurs by white-bright, and Terex muses over his current predicament.

An ID10 seeker droid had slipped out from underneath Zay’s jacket, a spindly yellow-painted little thing that zips in the air. In soft binary, it chitters to Terex’s droid VEL-27K8.

Terex’s eyes drift closed, then he opens them. 

“Vel, can you ask the girl’s droid a question for me?” 

The ID10 is stubborn and insists the details of its mission are on a confidential need-to-know basis, and VEL-27K8 has to resort to a bit of slicing. Eventually, VEL-27K8 extracts a datacard that the ID10 had been holding onto.

Terex inserts the disk into his datapad and skims through the information.

“Well. Isn’t that clever.”

When he looks up, Zay has her blaster rifle aimed at him.

“Agent Terex,” she says. 

“I take it you’ve commed Poe.” 

“Threepio, actually.” Terex does his best to stifle a pang of disappointment. Her eyes hard, her jaw clenched tight, Zay says, “What did you do to Dio?” 

Terex says, “Your probe droid? Nothing permanently damaging. I just wanted to confirm a hunch of mine. You’re not only stealing a datacard that a crooked informant intends to sell to the First Order. You’re swapping it out with a fake.” 

He taps his finger on his datapad’s screen. It’s a list of First Order officers and agents.

“The true datacard lists suspected Resistance spies and sympathizers amongst the First Order’s ranks. Your replacement list does the same, but it points fingers at the wrong people, as well as detailing other crimes and misdemeanors. You’re hoping to rouse paranoia among the upper echelons… to drive everyone at each other’s throats. Confirming that Captain Ansom is embezzling First Order funds or that Quartermaster Karta is selling weapons to Red Key on the side… 

“Of course, the Order could always dismiss the information as a complete fabrication, but smartly enough, you’ve seeded truth in it as well. 

“For example, resurrecting the old rumor of General Hux killing his father.

“That one is particularly inspired, if I must say so myself. Hux, I suspect, is on the outs with Ren after Batuu. He’s likely to be pushed aside or replaced. Brendol Hux still means something to some of the ex-Imperial old guard, who remember him as their commandant who perfected the stormtrooper program. That’s more ammunition for the ongoing power struggle.”

“It’s spectacularly _nasty,_ ” he says, with relish. “You’re throwing many ‘innocent’ First Order officers to the mercy of holding cells, loyalty officers, and firing squads. Desperation might convince several to turn turncoat for real, but whatever the outcome, you’ve planted the seeds of doubt and disarray.” 

Psychological warfare. Terex hadn’t thought that the Resistance would have it in them. 

“It was my idea,” Zay says, evenly. “We’re the Resistance, and we’re hope and light and everything, but this kind of work is necessary. But I’m not pointing my DLT-19x at you to talk about our mission objective. What’s your goal messing with us? Threepio said that you went rogue and dropped off the map. Are you working with the Order again?”

“Not at all. Like I said, I’m trying to retire. This entire meeting has been an unexpected coincidence.” 

“Some retirement.” Terex inclines his head in weary agreement. She says, “I guess I’m gonna have to stun you and take your ship. I’d say sorry, but—” She steadies her blaster, her finger curling against the trigger. 

“ _No,_ ” Terex interjects. “I’ll help you, girl, because one of the names on this list is someone I _despise_. I would like nothing more for her to be on the blaster end of a firing squad.”

Commander Malarus. The First Order had liberated her from the Cato Neimoidian jail that she’d been thrown in. At the moment, she’s currently assigned to the _Silencer._

The Resistance’s updated datacard accuses her of experimenting with Abersyn symbiotes for her pet poisons. Like the New Republic and Empire before it, the First Order deems possession of the symbiotes illegal. Terex theorizes that it’s an accusation that’s true or close to the truth.

If searched, Malarus is bound to have a substance too unsavory even for the Order.

His retirement is officially on hold, because _this_ is an opportunity that he can’t pass up. 

And Zay stares at him, thoughtful. Whatever she sees in his eyes is enough to make her lower her blaster. “Alright, Mr. Terex. Fix Dio, and I’ll make sure that we’re heading to Gwongdeen on schedule.”

She slides into the navigator’s chair, her rifle still slung over her shoulder. 

* * *

Despite her age, Zay is downright Imperial.

Terex can hear it in her voice, in every inflection and syllable, more than a Core World upbringing. His own accent is polished from years of practice mimicking his superior officers. But this girl — who grew up on a _Raider II_ -class corvette, owns an Imperial probe droid, and believes whole-heartedly in wielding insidious information like a fine vibro-knife — is Imperial in every meaning of the word.

The Resistance has been recruiting some very interesting people.

On the way to Gwongdeen, Zay asks him about the mementos he’s collected from his vacations, the holo-photos and souvenirs affixed to the walls. He finds himself answering, reminiscing, pressing her about her own background and her role in the Resistance.

She doesn’t tell him much, but he reads between the lines of what’s said and unsaid. It’s clear she’s been to numerous systems herself, a perpetual passenger as her parents hauled cargo from planet to planet. She speaks of her mother and father in past tense, and she calls the Duros _Uncle Shriv_ , her guardian as they embark on missions for the Resistance.

Infiltration. Intelligence gathering. Making connections with disreputable figures, ranging from ex-Imperials, pirates, smugglers, slicers, or other illicit malcontents who dislike living underneath the First Order’s durasteel fist.

In some ways, it is a revival of the Rebel Alliance’s Fulcrum network. In other ways, it takes cues from the Imperial Security Bureau of old.

Soon, the _Halcyon Heron_ breaks through the shifting scarlet sea of Gwongdeen, easing into the underground spaceport.

“Keep an eye on Shriv for me,” Zay tells him. “Remember, I’ve got the key, so you can’t leave the planet’s force fields without it, and…” 

“You’re aiming to return the key to your mark. He’ll make the transaction with the First Order, none the wiser.” Terex impatiently waves her off. “I am not an amateur to this line of work.” 

She doesn’t leave yet. She stops a couple of steps away from the starboard airlock, standing in front of an old Imperial stormtrooper helmet perched on a podium. It’s not Terex’s own original helmet from the Battle of Jakku, but it’s one that he’s picked up during his years as a pirate, a relic, a charm, a dejgi’s foot of sorts to keep on his ships. 

“My dad was a stormtrooper before he became Imperial special forces,” Zay says, cradling the white plated plastoid between her palms. “He said it had been so simple, wearing a bucket and following orders. Then he got promoted and things got tougher. It changed his life, his and my mother’s both, when they defected to the Rebel Alliance.” 

Terex’s lip curls. “It will always be hard, no matter which side you’re on. Sometimes it’s easier to step out of the equation entirely.”

She puts down the helmet. “You think I don’t ever think about leaving and hiding? I’m _seventeen._ I was planning on going to flight academy before all of this happened. Uncle Shriv worries about me all the time, even if he doesn’t say it.

“But the First Order killed my parents. My dad had the honor of being personally tortured by Kylo Ren, and my mom died in my arms. Life’s gonna throw asteroids at you, and I won’t run. I won’t give in to the darkness.

“At the end of the day, there’s always a choice. A choice to be better.” 

Zay recites the words like they’re well-worn and familiar, like the way the rebels say, _may the Force be with you,_ across their comms.

“It’s very nice to have pretty words and declarations,” Terex says, with a slow shake of his head. “But this is a war. All you rebels do is talk big about morals and goodness. You perform a little meddling here and there like relentless sandfleas. Blustering on about igniting the spark. The First Order may be made up of fools and Imperial wannabes, but they are stronger than your dim sputtering spark.” 

She doesn’t look back at him while her faded yellow seeker droid latches onto her back. 

Zay Versio says, “I’m not the spark. I’m the inferno.” 

* * *

Surprisingly, the heist goes off without a hitch. Terex drops off Zay Versio and Shriv Suurgav back on Nar Shaddaa to complete their mission — though not without getting a blaster pointed at him again, this time by Suurgav — but at least Zay has the manners to say thank you and wish him luck on his next vacation.

* * *

**INTERLUDE – THE** **_HALCYON HERON_ ** **– NOW**

Terex gets very, very drunk on a bottle of Tevraki whiskey. 

The next morning, he holocalls Vi Moradi, and he tells her to patch him through to Inferno Squad.

It isn’t defecting. Not entirely. It’s just one little nudge or two or five. Leaking half-remembered secrets and dirty laundry he’d heard while in the First Order. Sharing the locations of several Ranc warehouses, where he’s stashed weapon caches the Resistance could put to use. Calling in favors from underworld contacts. Helping Zay break First Order encryption and codes.

Sometimes, he coordinates operations from a quaint little beach hut on Spira, but other times, he does venture out. Moradi keeps to her word, and he’s no longer dogged by bounty hunters. It’s not too exciting nor too boring in the slightest.

For retirement, it’s not half-bad.

* * *

**INTERLUDE – EXEGOL – SEVERAL MONTHS LATER – NOW**

“Is that a _Starhawk_?” someone yells over the Resistance comms, through the newly arrived ships’ crosstalk. “I thought the New Republic decommissioned them decades ago. Or they all were lost in the cataclysm.” 

“I don’t think I’ve seen one since the Battle of Jakku.” 

“Oh, right, you fought in that. Sometimes I forget how old you are, Yeager.” 

“Kaz, just focus on not catching on fire this time.”

“Aunt Z’s taking bets how long it’ll take to happen,” chirps a young female voice. “I said fifteen standard minutes.”

“Huh. That’s generous. I said ten.” 

“ _Tam. Torra._ Don’t place bets on my life!” 

“Torra, dear, what did I say about gambling?”

“Don’t do it without you?” 

“That’s my girl.” 

More voices, this time, one that he recognizes: “Is that a Starhawk? That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” 

“Excuse me, Temmin Wexley, I am your wife.”

“Sorry, sorry, my brains are still scrambled. I just ejected out of my flaming X-wing, Karé, Force—”

“Shut up,” says another voice, an older woman, “and let the med droid fix you up.” 

“Sorry, Mom. Thanks for catching me.” 

“Anytime, Tem. Let’s turn off the comms, alright—”

“Is that a Starhawk?” says a new voice, incredulous, and it begins again.

Terex has never felt so smug in his life. Why, yes, the Ranc gang once stole a Starhawk, but left it in an off-world hangar, because why bother when you have superior Imperial ships like the renowned _Carrion Spike_? 

He cranes his head to peer out of the viewport. Which X-wing is—

From the pilot’s seat, Zay rolls her eyes. “No, I don’t think General Dameron’s seen us.” 

“I still can’t believe I get to fly one of these things,” Shriv says, gleefully. “I can’t wait to do that orbital bombardment move, even if we get blasted by those Final Order whatsits. In the name of Commodore Agate, let’s go down in style.”

* * *

**INTERLUDE** — **NAKADIA** — **NOW**

A month after the Battle of Exegol, Zorii gets tired of assisting The New Republic, Take 2, with First Order clean-up. She takes off with one of the Mon Calamari cruisers, as well as some ambitious young pilots who are curious about the whole smuggling thing.

Poe can’t really blame them, but it does rankle when he finds a bottle of loop juice in his X-wing accompanied with the note: _We’re more than square. Good luck putting the galaxy together. -Z_

“Are there any more questionable pirate exes of yours we should know about?” Finn asks, as the very pissed off Mon Cala delegation shuffles out of the control room.

“No,” Poe says, at the same time that Snap says, “Does Terex count?”

“Doesn’t count.” 

Finn takes a moment to consider that. “Wait. Is that where all those flowers are coming from?” 

Poe pointedly doesn’t look at the vase of Massassi blossoms sitting on the holo-projector console. “It could be anyone. I _am_ a big rebel hero.” 

Snap sighs. “You make the worst choices, Poe.”

* * *

**CASTILON — SIX MONTHS LATER — NOW**

“Kidnapping your commanding officer,” Poe says, firmly, “is against New Republic law. I should know, because I led all the treaty signing and peace talks and handshaking.” 

“Relax, Poe, General Finn’s got everything handled,” Kaz says. Humming and whirring, the shuttle touches down on the _Colossus_. “You need a break! You’re the one who introduced me to this platform, and it’s my turn to bring you back. Full circle, y’know?”

“You entered my name into a race without consulting me.” 

“Full circle,” Kaz repeats, insistent. “And it doesn’t count as a subordinate kidnapping his CO, when this was General Finn’s idea in the first place. And your Jedi friend helped me transport your X-wing here, even though she wouldn’t let us borrow the _Millenium Falcon._ ” 

“This is what a conspiracy looks like, Kaz. A coup. The fall of the New Republic again.” 

“Put me in stun cuffs later, General.” Kaz pats him on the back. “First, win this race.”

As if he would back down from a challenge. “I’ll win it for sure.” 

* * *

The tavern is swarming with customers. Immediately, Kaz is besieged with warm greetings from Aunt Z and the regular clientele.

“You finally upgraded your racer, Xiono!”

“I saw you on the HoloNet News last week! Good work with the Hosnian resettlement efforts.” 

“Can you pass along word to Ryvora that Glem wants to sponsor her for the next race?” 

The pilot receives the barrage with a smile, a tad overwhelmed but engaging back with friendly chatter.

For once, Poe’s glad to be out of the spotlight. Maybe this vacation thing isn’t so bad after all. The service droid hands him a glass — “Merenzane Gold,” he informs him. It’s one hell of a fancy drink.

Poe frowns. “I didn’t order this.” 

The service droid gestures toward another patron, and Poe’s mouth drops open.

Terex. He’s lounging on a barstool wearing casual clothes — a striped button-up shirt, dark trousers — holding his own glass of Merenzane Gold. 

And Poe breaks out into a grin, and he takes the seat beside him. “Hey. Long time no see.” 

“It’s been a very long time,” Terex says, without preamble.

“Yeah. A war and then some. Zay Versio’s been saying good things about you. I couldn’t believe it at first, but she’s a good kid with good instincts, and I guess people surprise you.” He thinks of the oddball medley of members that have made up the Resistance and the Rebel Alliance before it, the stories he’s heard from his dad and L’ulo and other Rebel vets.

Terex’s mouth twists at that. “Ms. Versio has much in common with her late grandfather. I suspect that her mother and father would’ve delivered many lectures to her during the war, had they lived.” But it’s a statement said without menace, more like admiration.

Poe lets out a hum. “Maybe. Still, she knows her limits, and she’s no less of a rebel. I don’t think I’d ever say that you’re a good guy, but you’re one of us, too, in the end.”

“I’d like to think that I defy categorization.” 

“Whatever the category, it was the right thing to do.”

“Poe Dameron,” Terex says, stopping to take a sip of his amber-colored drink before resuming, “I was very tired of my vacations getting ruined. I hated, and still hate, the First Order for sticking those damned implants in my head. And I thought it would be worth it to see you again and gloat, or something along those lines.” 

“So, is it worth it?” 

“I don’t know.” Terex cocks his head to his side and looks at him, his grey eyes piercing. “I suppose a war’s end will always be like this. Wondering what’s next, trying to figure out your place in the changing galaxy, and wanting things you can’t have.” 

Poe‘s breath catches. Rapidly, he blinks, once, twice, thrice. “It’s a big wide open galaxy now, Terex. There are a lot of things you can have.” 

Terex smiles. “There is, but there’s only one thing I can’t shake off. Like a bad habit. A death stick I can’t help consuming.” 

“I don’t think that’s healthy.” 

“Bad habits rarely are.” 

This conversation is treading dangerous waters. He tries: “You’re disrupting my vacation right now.” 

“I'm aware. I heard that you have a big race tomorrow.” 

“Hoping that I’ll crash?”

“Poe,” Terex says, “I’m betting on you.”

For a single second, Terex touches Poe’s hand, then returns his empty glass to the service droid's tray. Then he walks out of the tavern, the doors sliding shut behind him, and Poe thinks, wildly, of all the bad choices he’s going to make—

Because he knows, without a doubt, he will.


End file.
